Nobody's Dog Page 4

  ‘He has less even than I do,’ Frank mused, looking round. He was moved by the starkness of Norman’s room. ‘Not much to show at the end of your life . . .’

  Left alone, Digby eyed Chip jealously. He didn’t want the mongrel to sleep on Frank’s mattress and he growled every time Chip tried to come near.

  ‘Why hog it?’ Chip complained.

  ‘You’ve got your own bed,’ Digby reminded him. ‘This is mine.’

  ‘I don’t feel like being on my own just now.’

  ‘Understandable. But stay where you are.’

  They lay silent for a while. Then Chip said, ‘The old gaffer won’t be back, I’m sure of it.’

  Digby said, ‘Why not? Where else can he go?’

  ‘Nowhere. I think he’s dying. What’ll happen now?’

  ‘My master will feed you,’ Digby said confidently.

  ‘Mr Perfect? Yes, I expect you’re right. But he won’t want two dogs, will he?’

  Digby seriously hoped not, though he didn’t voice his thoughts.

  ‘I’ll be back on the street,’ Chip said. ‘Then it’ll be the Home again. Just my luck.’

  Digby’s thoughts drifted to his pen in the Dogs’ Home. He was reminded of Streak. Was he still there? He thought he probably was. ‘If you see an elderly black greyhound, ask him his name,’ he said. ‘It might be Streak. He was good to me. Tell him—’

  ‘Hold on, hold on, I’m not there yet,’ Chip protested. ‘Perhaps it won’t be me going back in, perhaps it’ll be you.’ He glared at Digby resentfully.

  Digby hadn’t considered that possibility. He had believed he and Frank would be together for always. But there were two dogs now . . . He sat up. ‘I hope you’re not going to go fawning over my master, trying to ingratiate yourself,’ he said. ‘I don’t intend to be supplanted.’ There was a warning note in his voice. ‘Remember Billy . . .’

  Frank didn’t know what to do about Chip. Norman was in a bad way and could be out of action for weeks. It was unlikely he would be discharged to roam the streets. Frank didn’t have the heart to kick Chip out, but he had to leave him behind when he and Digby went out collecting. He struggled to feed them both and now Chip spent all his time in Frank’s room. The solution to the problem was eventually taken out of Frank’s hands.

  One sunny morning he took Digby to a local park. He had exercised Chip earlier; he didn’t like walking the two dogs together, one on a lead and one off. In the park Frank came across a group of young homeless people, some of whom he knew well. It was a warm day and they were sitting on the grass together, drinking canned beer and swapping stories. Frank joined them, only too grateful for some jolly human company. Digby lay at his feet, content to drowse in the sunshine. One tale led to another and time passed quickly. Some of the others brought out some food and shared it around. The afternoon wore on, and by the time Frank pulled himself away to return home the sun was beginning to sink.

  As they turned the corner of their street both he and Digby sensed that something had changed. The place somehow felt different. Frank suddenly stood stock still. ‘It’s gone!’ he gasped. ‘The squat’s gone!’

  Digby caught his sense of shock and trembled. Miss Crisp ran out from her flat and grabbed Frank’s free hand. ‘You poor love,’ she said. ‘The council have sent in the demolition men. The house was a danger, Frank, it’s been condemned for years. It had to go.’

  Frank groped for an answer. ‘Yes . . . I know. It was bound to happen . . . I just didn’t expect it now . . . My things!’

  A man mowing his lawn called out, ‘Good riddance, I say. It was a stain on the neighbourhood. Decent area like this. We don’t want your kind round here!’ Frank didn’t hear him. He wanted to rescue what he could. But there was nothing left. Only piles of bricks and timbers and tiles. His possessions, scanty as they were, were buried under tons of dust and rubble. Amazingly, Norman’s radio had escaped damage. It stood forlornly on a broken brick near the path. Perhaps one of the workmen had saved it.

  Miss Crisp, panting a little, had followed Frank to the ruin. ‘The other dog ran off,’ she said. ‘There was no catching him.’

  Frank blinked dazedly, trying to grasp her words. ‘Oh,’ he said finally. ‘Chip’s gone, then. We’re on our own, Digby. And we’ve nothing left.’

  6

  ‘Wherever will you go?’ Miss Crisp asked. ‘Is there a hostel somewhere?’

  ‘Not one where I could guarantee to get a bed,’ Frank answered. ‘And they wouldn’t allow Digby in. I’ll find a sheltered doorway somewhere. That’s all I can hope for now, and it won’t be the first time.’

  Miss Crisp wrung her hands. ‘Must it be like that? Don’t you have family?’

  Frank grimaced. ‘I’d rather not talk about them,’ he said. He seemed to shut the thought away. ‘You know, I had some hopes of getting a job,’ he continued. ‘They wanted a barman at a pub in Berlin Road. Not too fussy there – I could have given my address as 38 Keserly Street. But 38 Keserly Street has been razed to the ground.’ He turned and looked regretfully again at the pile of rubble that had once been home to him.

  ‘Would these pub people know that?’ Miss Crisp hinted.

  ‘No, they wouldn’t necessarily. But there’s a difference,’ Frank explained. ‘I could keep myself halfway decent in there’ – he jerked his thumb at the ruin – ‘with a roof over my head. I can’t do that sleeping rough. So they won’t want to know.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, I really am,’ Miss Crisp went on. ‘I can help you with food . . . and even shelter for a bit if you wish. I don’t like to think of you reduced to begging.’

  ‘Miss Crisp, you’re a wonderful person,’ Frank said. ‘But I wouldn’t dream of being a burden. And as for begging – what else have I been doing for months?’

  ‘It’s not begging if you’re playing music, is it?’

  ‘Some would say so.’

  ‘Is there nothing I can do for you?’

  Frank glanced at Digby. ‘There is one thing,’ he answered. ‘I need to look for a bolt-hole for tonight. I don’t want to drag the poor dog around with me. Could you take Digby for a few hours?’

  Miss Crisp’s face lit up. ‘What do you think? It would be a pleasure.’

  ‘I’m so grateful to you.’ Frank ran a hand through his hair. He seemed a little desperate. He passed Digby’s lead to the woman. ‘Don’t worry if I don’t come for a while,’ he told her. ‘I’ll be back at the latest tomorrow morning.’ He squatted down and gave Digby a cuddle, talking to him about where he was going and when he would be back. Digby shivered. He knew Frank was parting from him. He licked Frank’s hands and face in helpless sympathy. Miss Crisp had to haul the dog away.

  Frank watched their retreating figures. Then he stepped back into the ruined garden. The edge of his old mattress protruded from a pile of debris. That would have to be sacrificed, but he badly needed to retrieve a blanket or two.

  ‘I’m at rock bottom now,’ he sighed to himself. He pulled a couple of torn stained blankets from among the rubbish. ‘These’ll hardly keep me warm tonight.’ He collected Norman’s radio and turned his back on the sorry scene. ‘Lucky Norman,’ he murmured. ‘Warm and cosy in his hospital bed.’

  There was nothing to do now but walk the streets until dusk. He had some money left and there was enough for a proper meal. While he ate it he thought about Digby. He knew the collie wouldn’t be happy in Miss Crisp’s flat. Perhaps he was already pining for him.

  Digby was indeed feeling wretched. Despite the woman’s kindness, all he wanted to do was to get away. He ignored the food she fetched for him and lurked by the door, listening for the reassuring sound of Frank’s footsteps and trying to detect the first familiar scent. He was disappointed. Although he was sure Frank wouldn’t desert him, he didn’t like Miss Crisp and growled every time she came too close.

  ‘You don’t meant that,’ Miss Crisp cooed. ‘You’re just anxious for young Frank. You’ve nothing to fear from me. And he’ll be
back just as soon as he’s ready for you.’

  Digby didn’t even turn to look at her. His mind was set on one thing: getting through that door. Miss Crisp couldn’t budge him from the spot, so she at last decided to slip him on the lead and walk him in the open air. It seemed to her that if she could prove to Digby that Frank wasn’t hanging around somewhere just outside, he would settle down.

  Digby leapt through the open door like a thing possessed. Miss Crisp hadn’t the strength to hold him. The lead caught on the door handle and snapped, and Digby bolted. The woman called in vain as the collie galloped first to the ruin of the squat and from there to the next most likely place where he thought Frank might be: the Underground station.

  Frank wasn’t there and Digby began to feel alarmed. He galloped down street after street, avenue after avenue, each road being one they had walked together at various times. But Frank had headed for the centre of the city, which Digby had never visited, and the collie saw no trace of him. He finished up searching the park where he and Frank had encountered the homeless group only hours earlier. The youngsters had dispersed but Digby came face to face with another acquaintance: Chip.

  The mongrel was lying against a park bench which was still slightly warm from the sun’s rays, now completely disappeared. He looked very jaded and showed no pleasure, nor even surprise, as Digby cantered towards him.

  ‘Have you seen him?’ Digby began at once, panting heavily.

  ‘Him? Who’s “him”?’

  ‘My master, of course. We were here earlier. Have you seen him, Chip?’

  ‘Not today, I haven’t,’ the mongrel replied. ‘And don’t think I’m going to join in a search for him either. I’m going to stay here, nice and quiet, until someone carts me off to the Home.’

  ‘You don’t mean that!’ Digby exclaimed. ‘That’s not what you want, I know. And supposing you’re just left here? Supposing you’re not picked up?’

  ‘The park keepers know me from way back,’ Chip explained wearily. ‘If one of them’s still around, he’ll know what to do with me.’

  ‘Don’t give up,’ Digby pleaded, beginning to feel afraid that the same fate might be awaiting him. ‘We can find my master again. He’ll always look after us.’

  ‘How did you lose him?’ Chip asked without much interest.

  ‘He gave me to another human,’ Digby answered. ‘She took me indoors but I managed to get free.’

  ‘More fool you,’ Chip grunted. ‘You should have stayed put. I would have. Mr Perfect won’t know where you are now. If he wants to come back to you, how will he find you?’

  Digby slumped belly-down on the grass. For the first time he understood that he had done the worst possible thing. He whispered, ‘Then we must find him.’

  ‘What do you mean, “we”?’ Chip snapped. ‘I told you. I’m staying right here.’

  ‘Oh, Chip, won’t you help me?’ Digby begged. ‘You know how to get around. I can see I’ve been stupid; I need your street wisdom. You’re an old hand at this sort of thing, aren’t you? And you could benefit too.’

  Chip glared back. ‘I’m too tired, too old and too bored by the prospect,’ he growled.

  ‘My master’s our only hope,’ Digby whined. ‘You can’t give up like this! And you’re not old. You always had plenty of bounce before.’

  Chip yawned, but then he got slowly to his feet. He stretched his front legs and then his back. ‘OK. You’ve convinced me,’ he muttered. ‘I’m a soft-hearted mutt, as you know. I won’t leave you completely in the lurch.’

  ‘You’re a pal!’ Digby yapped happily. ‘I know we had some differences before. But now we can work together. We have the same purpose.’

  ‘Yeah. Well, the first thing is to scarper from this park, because if we stay here we’ll both find ourselves back in the compound.’ Chip set off at an easy lope, keeping as much as possible away from the open expanse of grass. He led Digby through a shrubbery and under some tall trees, then alongside a wall until they could leave the park by a side exit.

  ‘That was well done,’ Chip congratulated himself. ‘I haven’t lost all my wits. Where to now?’

  ‘Where? Oh, dear, I’ve no idea. What do you suggest? Where do humans go who have no home?’

  ‘Same place as homeless dogs and cats. Come on – I know where a lot of them go, anyway.’

  In a dark doorway in one of the main city streets Frank had wrapped himself in his two torn blankets. He had chosen a place in a row of shops, now closed up and deserted until the morning. Norman’s radio was next to him. The batteries were failing but Frank could still hear the faint strains of a ballad he knew well. He had the volume control at its full extent. In an hour or two there would be no sound at all. He took out his harmonica and, blowing softly, followed the tune along. The night was cloudy and not too cold. A few spots of rain fell on the pavement in front of him. Frank wriggled further into the doorway and pressed his back against the closed door of a video hire shop. Few people passed by and none of them gave him a second glance. Frank knew that if he had had Digby with him they would have been much more likely to show interest. He sucked and blew, blew and sucked, in time with the warbling voice. The song finished and a disc jockey began to gabble. Frank played another tune and wondered what the time was. It was going to be a long night.

  Chip led Digby along a main thoroughfare. They had come a long way and it was late. Traffic along the road was light. In every doorway one or two people had bedded down for the night. Some had a blanket or rug draped round them. Others had the luxury of a sleeping-bag to snuggle into. Most were still awake. Many of these people were accompanied by dogs, all of which appeared to be related. They were all black and brown dogs similar to Chip. Chip recognized a few of them and greeted them curtly. Digby kept his distance, unsure of the animals’ temperaments. It was soon clear that Frank wasn’t occupying any of these doorways. They came to a standstill.

  ‘Now what?’ Digby asked morosely. ‘I don’t think we’ll ever find him.’

  ‘Hm! You give up too easily,’ Chip told him. ‘There are loads of places we can search.’

  Digby sat on his haunches. ‘I’m tired,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah. We’ll have a little rest,’ Chip agreed. He lay down on the pavement just where he was. After a moment’s hesitation Digby joined him.

  ‘I’m back where I started,’ Chip commented. ‘I was born on the streets and I suppose I’ll die on ’em.’

  ‘But you must have had a home once,’ Digby remarked wearily. ‘You were in the compound more than once. You told me. So some kind human must have come and chosen you the first time? Someone like—’

  ‘Your Mr Perfect?’ Chip finished for him. ‘Yeah. Someone came for me all right. An old biddy who wanted a bit of company. I was with her for a little. Then she died. So – back in I went.’

  ‘And last time?’

  ‘Last time was worse. I was put with a family. The children didn’t understand me. They thought I was a toy or something. Teasing, humiliating, it went on and on. Even the adult humans could see it was no good. They packed me off to the dear old compound again. But I could see where I was heading and I thought, “Not this time, you don’t!” And I escaped and that was it. Until I got in with the old bloke you know about. Life on the streets ain’t so bad. At least you’re not confined.’

  ‘I don’t want to live like that,’ Digby said vehemently. ‘I must find my master! I’m used to being cared for.’

  ‘I know.’ Chip was almost sympathetic. ‘We’ll keep looking and if two dogs aren’t too much for him I might join you for a while. But it couldn’t be for long. Too much to expect us to get along like that for good, eh?’

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ Digby said. ‘You’re very honest.’

  ‘Honest, realistic, call it what you like. And—Whoops! Look out!’ Chip barked a sudden note of warning, springing to his feet as he did so.

  Digby looked round. A big man who had been slumped in one of the doorways had st
irred, probably woken by the dogs’ noise. He towered over the collie and, just before Digby sensed the danger he was in, lunged for the dog’s collar and yanked Digby brutally towards him. Chip darted away with Digby’s horrified yelps echoing in his ears.

  ‘Shut yer row,’ the big man growled. ‘I don’t know where you came from but you’re just what I need. I could do very well out of you.’

  7

  After an uncomfortable and lonely night, Frank rolled up his blankets, picked up Norman’s radio and set off for the usual place for a clean-up. He had lost his toothbrush and razor but at least there was soap on tap in the washroom. He felt a little better after sluicing his face and hands with warm water, but he was cold and stiff from his night on the pavement and he had hardly slept at all. Depressed, he made his way to Keserly Street.

  Miss Crisp opened her flat door to him white-faced.

  ‘Whatever’s the matter?’ Frank asked at once.

  ‘I’ve lost him. He was so desperate to get away he just . . . wrenched himself free, and off he went.’

  Frank’s one consolation, his anticipation of being reunited with his dog, vanished in a flash. ‘Oh no! How could you let that happen?’ he said accusingly. Then, seeing Miss Crisp’s distress, Frank recovered his usual good manners. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have put the responsibility on you. I didn’t mean to . . .’ He broke off with a woeful shake of his head.

  ‘I’ve told the police,’ Miss Crisp said. ‘I said Digby was mine. I didn’t know what else to do.’ She noticed his pinched features. ‘Oh, Frank, come in. Have some hot porridge and tea. You look frozen. And you can ditch those ragged things!’ She pointed to the frayed blankets. ‘I’ve plenty better here and you’re welcome to any of them. And a cushion or two. I’ve an old holdall we can put things in for you.’

  Frank allowed himself to be fussed over. It felt wonderful. He sank into a chair in the kitchen. The room was so warm he started nodding at once, while Miss Crisp bustled about. She brought him porridge and toast and eggs and a pot of tea.